Time to talk
by oldmule
Summary: Fuelled by alcohol, Ruth reaches for the phone. There is only one man on her mind and only one subject.
1. Chapter 1

Ruth looked at the bottle. Three quarters was gone. The remainder was shouting out her name…loudly.

Her mobile lay next to her. She wondered if they were all in league – it was calling too.

Harry.

Quiet, irascible, irresistible…Harry.

The phone screamed 'call him'.

The rioja roared 'NOW'!

Unbidden her hand stretched out, reaching for the handset, fingertips feathering the keys, knowing the number. Conscious thought uncalled for.

"Harry…" she murmured, as the ringtone ended, her thumb hovering above the disconnect.

"Ruth?" he replied, hesitatingly.

And then her brain froze, her mouth moved with no sound evolving.

It was Harry. She was talking to Harry. She was about to say something overwhelming to him, something true, something undeniable, something irrefutable.

"Harry…."

"Yes, Ruth?'

And the silence between them hit like a tidal wave and she was drowning, floundering, reaching for solid ground, which just wasn't there.

"Ruth, please say something."

And she tried….she really tried.

Her mouth opened, inhaling the thin surrounding oxygen and as her lungs expanded she finally, haltingly began to speak.


	2. Chapter 2

"I….I…"

And that's where the sound ended. Where the comprehensible ended.

"Yes….?" Harry asked, tentatively.

Nothing.

"Are you okay, Ruth?"

Nothing.

"…Ruth..?'

"I just wanted..." she eventually stuttered.

And the world hung between them.

The planets turned and the stars spun and electronic data whizzed around their heads invisible and silent, none of it saying anything uselful.

"Harry… could you, would you…?

"Would I what... Ruth?"

Silence.

"…Would I what?"

"It's fine. Forget it. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called."

And as her thumb increased its pressure on the red button below, his voice called quietly into the ether… "Ruth, it's fine…please?"

And then all was silence and he was gone.

"Fuck!'

She looked at the handset angrily.

"Fuck!"

She threw it at the sofa, where it bounced against a cushion and fell subdued and unharmed onto the plush carpet.

"Idiot!"

The cat looked up at her, wide eyed.

"Yes," she agreed," I am a total bloody idiot. How hard can it be?"

The cat blinked. It was right – it was bloody hard. It always was with Harry.

She headed onto the kitchen abandoning the empty glass of rioja - what did it know?

The kettle called wise words and she filled it, reaching for the sanity of a peppermint teabag.

Sense and sensibility. Sense and stability. Sense and …? No sense and no …ability! She was useless. Rubbish. Pointless. Useless.

She stirred the tea. It was a shade of green and didn't vary. It was as thin and pointless as her.

Why, for just once, could she not find the words?

Harry, I love you. How very hard was that to say? As hard as pouring hot water on a teabag. Yet it was all about timing, which they both well knew.

The water had to be boiling, really boiling, freshly, scaldingly boiling … only then would it brew properly, only then would the taste and the aroma be revealed. Proper boiling.

When had they ever come together other than at luke warm, or perhaps somewhere close to simmering … but not boiling.

Now she needed boiling.

The tea disappeared down the sink. The front door closed behind her. The night air stirred as she pushed through it, knowing that there was something different in the atmosphere.

Tonight was a night that something was going to happen.

Tonight was boiling.


	3. Chapter 3

**Decided this is set mid series 5, post Havensworth but before any silliness with Cotterdam!**

* * *

Harry put down the glass of scotch. It was empty. But that wasn't the point.

The point was Ruth.

Wasn't it always.

She was trying to say something. Who knew what?

Was she okay? Was there a problem? What if that second date was something she now wanted.

Stop it. Imagination running away.

What had she actually said?...Nothing really.

It had been a conversation with Ruth … what did they ever say that made sense?

But still.

* * *

It wasn't easy maintaining boiling point on a bus.

With every stop that moved her closer to him the cells fuelled with the alcoholic verve that had energised her, began to slowly seep; a gentle but noticeable waning of enthusiasm and determination.

The regular rocking of the bus, the soothing sway of its journey, the soft music of traffic and buzz of conversation: all were conducive not to boiling, not to simmering, but to something altogether much less stressful.

* * *

Harry paced across the office, something altogether less sharp about him than usual. Ruffled, creased blue shirt, no tie, sleeves pushed up. His hand slid up to rub at tired, worried eyes.

Adam appeared at the door.

Harry's gaze flew to him.

"Nothing."

A hand slammed down against the desk.

"Jo's staying at the house," Adam continued, "Ros is on her way in, Malcolm's rechecking all the chatter."

"Ros is here," said Ros stepping through the door with her usual impeccable timing. She glanced at Adam and Harry's bent, taut back.

"Have we got no trace on her phone?" she asked.

Harry turned, in his raised hand a mobile.

"Oh," said Ros.

"It was on her living room floor."

"Last call?"

"To me," said Harry.

"About?"

Harry quirked his head but said nothing. Ros looked back to Adam who shrugged slightly. "It's not very clear."

"Well, it is Ruth," scoffed Ros.

"She said something along the lines of 'Harry, could you…would you?'"

"'Could you, would you'…what?"

"I don't know," Harry said rather loudly.

"That's conclusive," Ros's voice dripped with sarcasm, "No wonder you've been here all night searching for her," She turned away.

A hand suddenly blocked the doorway and a voice hissed close in her ear.

"Front door unlocked, signs of a struggle, phone abandoned." She glanced up at the intense, passionate, angry face of her boss. "One of my officers has vanished in unexplained circumstances, do you want to wait until we find a body before you deem it fit to act?"

"Besides which," chimed in Adam, "she had a copy of all the transcripts from Havensworth!"

Harry slowly removed his arm, anger fading, worry rushing in once more to replace it.

"She was trying to tell me something, Ros."

"Then we better find her," she replied with as soft a smile as Ros Myers was capable of, "…so that we can find out what."

* * *

"Love…?"

"Mmmm."

She felt his hand upon her arm, the delicate squeeze of his fingers.

"Love…?"

"Harry…"

His other hand sliding up her shoulder.

"Come on, love."

Ruth's eyes opened fully. This was no Harry before her, no hazel eyes, no gentle smile, no sharp suit.

"Time to get off."

"Wh …where …?" she murmured confused.

"The depot. They must have missed seeing you curled up back here."

"Oh." Ruth sat up glancing around at the empty seats around her, the regimented rows of double deckers formed up in parade outside the window.

Her eyes shifted groggily back to the overalled man, mop and bucket propped behind him.

"Time is it?" she asked rubbing her eyes.

"Well, I'm running a bit behind myself this morning," he glanced at his watch, shaking his head, "better get on, quarter to seven already."

"What!"

Vision no longer fogged with sleep and with a head that suddenly discovered itself to be properly pounding Ruth stood up. Rather too quickly. She grasped the top of the nearest seat and vowed never to touch rioja again.

"I … I need to …" sentences appeared to be more of a problem than standing.

"Get to work?" ventured the cleaner, smiling in the rather irritating way of one with a clear head.

She managed a barely perceptible nod.

"Well, you're in the right place for a bus!"

Ruth didn't laugh.


	4. Chapter 4

Malcolm felt a presence at his shoulder though his eyes never moved from the cctv footage spooling through on a quad screen split in front of him.

He wished Harry would move on, the tension he was transmitting was undeniably contagious.

"Meeting room. Now," snapped Harry suddenly.

Adam put down the phone, Zaf abandoned the file he was rifling through, Malcolm paused the footage. Jo turned from the pods.

All followed Harry.

* * *

"If we assume that the transcripts were the goal then why not just take them, why take Ruth?" queried Adam.

"Coincidence," ventured Zaf.

"What, are you saying they didn't matter?" Jo asked, trying to follow his line of thought.

"Maybe they were after an agent, information, rendition."

"But why Ruth?"

"She knows more than most," said Adam.

"And she's closest to you," Zaf looked at the so far silent Harry.

"What?!"

He was no longer silent.

"Well, you know…" floundered Zaf, "You're …" he gazed around for assistance but suddenly all eyes were on the table, "….close."

Harry bridled, "I don't know what you're suggesting Mr Younis but I can assure you that there's nothing - "

"Sorry. I'm so sorry I'm late."

All heads turned.

Through the door bundled Ruth.

She certainly looked like she'd been through an ordeal. Crumpled and creased in the same clothes as yesterday, her hair ruffled and unkempt.

They were all staring at her.

Her head hurt, her neck hurt, her back hurt. In fact she felt a bit queasy. If it wasn't for suffering so much she would have been feeling the acute embarrassment of causing a bit of a scene and being decidedly late for a briefing that she herself was meant to be giving.

"Ruth," said Jo as surprised as the rest.

"What happened?" asked Adam.

"Are you hurt?" demanded Harry.

"No," said Ruth warily, wrestling with the files she had just grabbed from her desk.

"But you look…"

"Like shit," added Zaf.

Harry glared at him once more.

"Thanks," Ruth sat down with a sigh. She'd certainly felt better. The last thing she needed right now was this, she pictured her bed and the deep desire to crawl into it and die quietly.

"Ruth, what happened?" asked Adam, moving over to her, "…what happened last night?"

"Last night?" her eyes swung to Harry and then quickly, guiltily away, "Nothing."

"But Ruth –" started Harry.

"Your house, the struggle …" prompted Adam.

"Struggle?" Ruth was confused. The only struggle she had had was to tell Harry how she felt and she hoped that was something they were all unlikely to be aware of.

"The vase by the door was broken and the table overturned." Harry said quietly.

Ruth processed … for her very slowly.

"Oh, I …" she really had been pissed last night, "I… I tripped up and well, fell into it."

"But the door was left open."

"Was it?"

Harry nodded.

"You were at my house?"

"You called."

"I didn't say come round."

"I was worried.'

"About what?"

This was turning into a domestic. Jo felt slightly uncomfortable and looked away, Malcolm studied his hand in great detail. Zaf looked amused, winking at Adam.

"What is all this?" Ruth asked, eager to prevent Harry embarrassing himself or her any further, "I'm just a bit late, that's it."

She returned her gaze to the files and hoped they'd all let it be. Hope, however, was in vain.

"But where have you been all night?"

"Out!" she said. The last thing she was going to admit to was the rather unseemly truth. Give them that and it would be like giving a dog a bone. She would never hear the end of it.

"Out?" repeated Zaf slowly before a light began to dawn in his eyes and his head slowly started to nod, "Out. Oh, I see … you were _**out**_." He grinned cheekily at her.

"Out where?" asked a confused Malcolm.

But Adam's thoughts had found and matched those of Zaf.

"Leave it Malcolm," he said smirking, "Ruth was just 'out'."

Jo, too, had grasped it, she glanced at Harry wondering when would be the moment that he too would jump on the train of thought they had all already boarded.

The train pulled in before Harry.

He didn't want to get on.

Ruth had spent the night out, come in wearing the same clothes, looking like she had had a heavy night and clearly didn't want to discuss it.

"Right," he said curtly, "Seeing as we have all clearly been wasting our time, let's get on with something useful then shall we?' He stood up.

"But my briefing?" Ruth queried, her head pounding.

"De briefing!" sniggered Zaf.

Harry was already leaving the room.

"Not now, Ruth."

Adam winked as he got up.

Malcolm shook his head slightly, "Oh Ruth," he sighed quietly.

Zaf grinned and opened his mouth to speak but Jo marched him out.

"What?!" he moaned as her hand jabbed at his back.

"Poor Harry," she murmured.

He stopped and looked at her.

"Poor Harry? He should have done something before now. Bout time Ruth had a bit of fun."

One withering look later and Zaf found himself on his own.

So did Ruth.

So did Harry.

Harry, alone in his office, speculated on what she might have been trying to say last night, 'could you, would you'… grant me permission to socialise? Stay away? Leave me be? Get the message?

Whatever it was he'd got it. Loud and clear.

Ruth, alone in the meeting room, with no one to brief, or debrief, was glad. She had no idea what any of them were talking about, all that was occupying her mind was the ever growing, seriously swelling thought that very, very soon she was going to be sick!


	5. Chapter 5

**Teeny tiny chapter as been very busy!**

* * *

Ruth looked at the toilet bowl. The toilet bowl looked back. Neither was about to let go of the other.

"Harry sodding Pearce!" muttered Ruth.

* * *

The river ran by, echoing back as it always did his own emotions.

The morning after their dinner he had stood precisely here and it had shimmered, almost blinding him with joyful reflected, refracted light.

And here too he had lingered after she had told him in no uncertain terms, that there would be no chance of it ever happening again; on a day when the clouds met the water and the Thames appeared flat, a solid mass devoid of life or welcome.

Now he stood here once more and this time the water met the clouds; rivets of rainwater puncturing the river; neither really knowing where the other began. It bounced off his shoulders and ran through his hair.

"Oh, Ruth," he whispered.


	6. Chapter 6

Finally, sufficiently composed but still feeling like a bag of spanners Ruth managed to ease herself from the toilet bowl and make her way back towards the grid.

At that moment in time there were two people that she did not wish to encounter, Harry was one of them.

"Ah, the wanderer returns!"

"Hello Ros," Ruth carried on walking. Ros was the other.

"Good night, was it?"

"What?"

"Good night?"

Ros was certainly enjoying this.

Ruth half nodded, eyes down, moving quickly on, having no idea what to say but simply not wanting to be there.

"More Miss Marple than Mi5," Ros smirked, "Analyst missing in action..."

Ruth was about to round the corridor to safety.

"…Found asleep on the number 52 bus."

Ruth stopped.

Ros was leant against the wall. Ruth had seen her smug on many occasions but this moment truly was worthy of winning all the awards.

"Section D Red flashed for a nap!" she smirked.

"Red flashed?" Ruth glanced warily over her shoulder and moved closer.

"If only they knew…" Ros leant in a little closer and peered at her, "You know, you really don't look all that well, Ruth."

Ruth wasn't feeling well. Nausea spent, she was now capable enough to be overwhelmed with the first approaching wave of humiliation.

"Harry red flashed the team?" she repeated.

"Missing agent, Ruth. All hands on deck."

This was just getting worse.

"Ros, please don't say anything."

Ros tilted her head, enjoying the moment way too much, "Embarrassed?" she asked.

"Just a little," answered a straight faced Ruth, determining to try and show her no more weakness.

Ros considered.

"Hats off to you though, you've certainly given them something to talk about."

"You've told them?" Ruth asked aghast.

Ros shook her head "No, why should I… you've said more than enough," and with a wink she began to walk away.

"Thanks," murmured Ruth after her, grateful, confused and not a little surprised. She didn't trust Ros, not by a long way, but whatever she was talking about, and Ruth really wasn't sure what that was, at least it appeared she had said nothing to the others.

* * *

The pod doors opened and Harry strode out, damp, miserable and unwilling. He had spun out his meetings for as long as possible; even insufferable politicians and civil servants being preferable to being back on the grid. A couple of pairs of eyes glanced up at him but no one spoke. He didn't look, he didn't want to; he wanted no contact with the team, or with Ruth.

* * *

"All right?" grinned Zaf as he sat down.

Ruth glared at him.

She was feeling a little better. The afternoon had brought some relief both to head and to stomach, besides which she seemed to have got away with the ignominy of the bus.

"You look a bit tired. Must be ready for bed, Ruth?" he asked smirking.

There was an awful lot of smirking around today. Ruth glanced over at Ros wondering if she really had said something, but she was on the phone, intent and business like.

"What do you mean?" asked Ruth pointedly.

"He means nothing, Ruth," Jo said, whacking Zaf across the head, "he's just in an even more stupid mood than usual."

Adam crossed by dropping a folder onto Ruth's desk, "Glance through that and if there's nothing that's flagged up give it to Harry." He was already heading towards the pods, before she had chance to protest.

* * *

Having avoided Harry all day either because she had been welded to the toilet, or because he had been out at several meetings, she found she could avoid him no longer.

Unusually she knocked on the door before entering.

He glanced up at her briefly before returning his gaze to the paperwork on his desk.

"Adam asked me to give you this," she said.

"Thank you," came the curt reply.

She turned to the door but paused.

"I'm very sorry that I was late for the briefing."

There was no reply.

"And that I caused any … trouble," she added. "It won't happen again."

Still no answer.

She cut her losses and slid the door closed behind her.

Malcolm left the forgery suite, he had seen Ruth exit Harry's office and he could hold his tongue no longer.

"I'm sorry I have interfered in the past Ruth and I know it's none of my business but I have to say that I don't think you're being very fair to him."

"It's the first time I've been late in three years Malcolm."

"It's not your time keeping, Ruth and you know it."

He walked away leaving her bemused, guilty and yet somewhat indignant.

* * *

"Oh come on, enough's enough," announced Zaf plonking himself on the corner of Ruth's desk.

"What?" she looked up irritated, pulling at the file now trapped under his thigh, "Zaf, move!"

"Who is he, Ruth?"

"Who is who? Will you please move!"

Zaf's eyebrows shimmied in mischievous manner.

She sighed deeply. Was she suddenly operating in some kind of parallel universe where no one actually made any sense anymore?

A few more minutes and that would be it, she could go. All she had to do was stick it out just that few more minutes. And so she painted on a smile with which to humour him by.

"Ruth!" A loud, barked, irritated shout came from the direction of Harry's office.

Zaf scurried off.

Ruth got up and made her weary way towards the office.

She would be more than glad when this day was over and done with.


	7. Chapter 7

Harry sat at his desk, arm outstretched, file proffered.

"No significant risk!" he snapped.

Ruth took the file.

"You sure about that?" his tone was harsh and challenging.

"I … " she hesitated.

"Page 13. Look again and this time with more than a cursory glance." He thrust the file in her direction, turning his gaze away, "Unless you're too tired," he muttered under his breath.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she snapped.

"You know very well what that means, Ruth, the whole bloody section knows what that means."

"Well it's a mystery to me. The whole day's a mystery. I wish I'd never come in."

"I bet you do. A day in bed, is that what you would have preferred?"

"The way I'm feeling yes, Harry, it is."

She turned away.

"Then next time, I would advise your overnight dalliances be a little more professional Ruth, it will make your life somewhat easier and my department function considerably more efficiently."

"Last night?" she stammered, cursing the name of Ros bloody Myers.

"It's none of my business who you sleep with, Ruth. Just don't bring it to work."

"Who I what?"

This, thought Ruth, was beginning to spiral out of all control!

"Last night," he said in a monotone of understanding, taking care to strip all the hurt, betrayal and jealousy from his voice.

"Last night..." she repeated, "I spent on a bus, Harry."

"Spare me the details."

"Coming to see you."

"Of course you did," his voice was dripping with sarcasm, "Funny though, you never turned up."

"You weren't there."

"No, Because I was on my way to yours."

"Well, there was no need, Harry, I was on the bus."

"Back seat, was it?"

She looked at him blankly wondering what her seating arrangements had to do with anything.

"Was it?!" he demanded.

"Yes, it was, actually."

"Upper deck, back seat knee trembler and then round to his!" And suddenly he couldn't control the anger or the jealousy or the hurt.

"What?!" she spluttered.

"Back to his for seconds, was it?"

"The only 'him' was a bloody cleaner," she snapped in frustration.

"Well, when opportunity knocks, Ruth, why say no!"

She grabbed at the fury she felt and held it tight.

"You're not worthy of that," she spat out, turning to the door, only just clinging onto her self control.

"And you're not worthy of behaving like a slut."

The air in the room stopped. Everything simply stopped.

The heat rose in her cheeks and the anger boiled in her veins: the fury was free.

"Coming from a serial adulterer!" she hissed, spinning back to him.

Suddenly he was on his feet in front of her, "I've not been near a woman in three years and believe me at this moment in time I thank god for that!"

"You and me both!"

She turned to the door but he caught her wrist roughly in his hand.

"Somewhat less reticent last night, weren't you?!"

"Get off me," she pulled away, but he pushed her forward. Her back thumped against the wall.

"You have no idea, Ruth, no idea!" His words were laden, his face close, his eyes on fire.

"I have no idea?" she repeated scornfully, "You're the one who's clueless Harry. Totally bloody clueless!"

She tried to turn from him but he thrust her shoulder back.

"Is this too close to home, is it?" his voice reverberated through her, his mouth so close to her ear, his breath hot against the raging anger in her cheek. "Or could you not find the guts to simply tell me you weren't interested?"

Suddenly he let go her wrist and pushed himself away from her, reining back the emotions, ashamed at his lack of control, disappointed in both himself and her.

He turned, leaning against his desk, his back to her.

His next words were hushed. Anger restrained. Jealousy caged.

"Get out Ruth, before I embarrass myself further."

She wanted to hit him. She wanted to hurt him. She wanted to go home.

"I spent last night on a bus, Harry, fuelled by far too much wine, me not the bus. I was coming to tell you how I felt about you. What happened after that I regret intensely. But you know what? Having had the day from hell, I'm glad! Glad that all this has revealed you for who you are, Harry. Jealous, petty and ignorant. If you have so little respect for me, why should I have any whatsoever for you?"

And with that, the door slid closed.


	8. Chapter 8

Ruth sat on the tube. The bus she had decided to stay well away from for the foreseeable future.

She was tired, she was emotional and she wanted to be home.

She had emerged from Harry's office and run the gaunlet of raised eyebrows as she crossed back to her desk where she picked up her coat and bag and promptly left. Her colleagues glanced at each other but decided to say nothing.

All apart from Zaf.

"Guess Harry wasn't too happy about 'last night'."

"Oh, shut up!" said Jo.

Adam threw something at him.

Malcolm silently watched Harry sitting in his office, one hand slowly rubbing his forehead, his jaw locked, his brow furrowed.

The pod doors opened. Ros stepped out onto the grid.

"Could it get any more sombre in here?" she queried as she moved to sift through some files on her desk, "Who died?"

"Harry had it out with Ruth about 'last night'," Jo whispered, nodding in the direction of the office, where Harry was looking more miserable than ever.

"Oh, for god's sake!" Ros slammed down a file, "only Ruth could make this so damned complicated." And in determined fashion she headed towards Harry's office.

"Ruth's night out…" she announced as the door was still sliding open.

"Now now, Ros," snapped Harry.

"Consisted of too much red wine and the back seat –"

"Of a double decker. I know." Harry finally glanced up, "Now, go away."

Ros went away.

But then she came back.

"What do you know, Harry?"

He looked up, a warning in his eyes. But she did not move. The battle of wills continued but it was Ros who won out.

"Everything," he muttered finally.

"The cleaner?" she prompted.

"Yes, I know about the bloody cleaner!" he snapped.

Ros stepped forward and spoke patiently as though to a child.

"The cleaner who woke her up at 6.30 this morning after she'd spent the night in the depot having passed out on the backseat of the number 52 which had been on route between hers and your house?" she said patiently.

Harry, who was about to shout once more, hesitated.

"It's Ruth, Harry. Do you really think she'd spend a wild passionate night and come into work in the same clothes, flaunting it to all and sundry? For god's sake, she's not me, Harry!"

He looked at her, his jaw still slightly disconnected.

"I just accused her of behaving like a slut," he said, very quietly indeed.

Ros raised her eyebrows, shook her head and closed the door behind her.

* * *

A slice of toast and a boiled egg. Soldiers. Runny yoke.

The first food of the day. Not for breakfast but for supper.

A peppermint tea.

Jamas on, fluffy socks and bed. Possibly a short burst of radio 4.

The doorbell rang.

She ignored it.

The knocking began.

She ignored that.

It didn't stop.

She put down her mug, heaved herself up and headed for the door.

Harry stood on the other side.

He saw pale blue pyjamas, momentarily glanced pink fluffy socks and without a doubt he spotted the dark, damning expression that Ruth's face changed into upon seeing him.

"I'm sorry," he attempted, as the door slammed resoundingly in his face.


	9. Chapter 9

The following three days passed slowly. It was safe to say that the mood on the grid was still as sombre: sombre, that was, only when Harry was present.

On day one, before he arrived, Ruth had come in to the office to find Zaf and Adam both wearing a bus conductor's hat. In the afternoon, when Harry had disappeared to yet another meeting that seemed to last longer than was necessary, the office was filled with the resounding of a bell which having 'dinged' twice was followed by a shout of 'all aboard' from a surprisingly game Ros.

Needless to say, Malcolm and Jo rose above such frivolities and looked sympathetically upon the ever put upon Ruth, who smiled benignly, humouring the boys, whilst detesting every moment, knowing that sooner or later they would get bored and move on.

On day two she found herself in the same room as Harry for the first time. Fortunately it was the meeting room and three of the team were present. He had tried to catch her eye on a couple of occasions but she failed to respond. She simply delivered her findings, responded professionally to any questions and filed out of the room as quickly as possible.

On day three he called her into the office. She stood by the door refusing to close it and told him she was inundated with work and asked was this going to take long. He was about to try and apologise but decided against it, instead he suggested that perhaps he ought to let her get on. He tried to smile, to show her in that singularly genuine, repentant look how much he regretted all that had been said, but she was already on the way out.

On day four she was happy to have escaped unscathed. Comments about buses had slipped from the agenda; the red hammock they had hung in the forgery suite with the number 52 attached to it had been removed; Harry had been conspicuous only by his absence; and all was finally settling back into some kind of normality.

Ruth walked down the street in the rain, happily oblivious.

Perhaps 'happily' was a slight overstatement.

Perhaps merely 'oblivious'.

A car pulled up beside her. The door opened.

"Get in," called Harry.

"I'm fine," the curt, predictable response.

"Ruth. Get in."

"I like the rain."

"The Home Secretary wants to see us."

"Us?" she asked, scornfully.

"Yes, us. I know you don't want to, but for god's sake, get in."

She paused in her walk and stared at him. He was her boss. And the HS was their boss. Yet still she hesitated.

"Please, Ruth," said Harry plaintively.

She got in.

The two sat side by side in the back of the car. A second felt like a minute, a minute like an hour. The silence was all consuming, all enveloping and the longer the silence, the harder it was to break it.

The traffic didn't help, delaying them as the streets ground to a halt in the pouring rain.

"Shouldn't be too long now sir," said the driver positively, painfully aware of the atmosphere in the back of his car.

Harry merely thanked god for the sound of another human voice breaking the inescapable silence that had infected them.

"Why?" asked Ruth suddenly and unexpectedly.

"Why what?"

"Why does he want to see us both?"

"The Chinese have a delegation in town. Vital national trade and security links. He wants us to stick close and he wants someone who they can trust and communicate freely with.

"Me?" she asked.

"You," he said and his eyes lingered on her.

She looked away.

"You sure you believe me capable?" she asked.

"Of course."

"You certain I won't try and shag the lead delicate, or anyone else I can lay my hands on?"

He bit his tongue and instead sort the right words, but she didn't want to hear them.

Besides which they had arrived.


	10. Chapter 10

The driver pulled in to an underground car park. It was quiet and gloomy. He stopped the car neatly between the white lines and got out.

Ruth reached for the handle.

There was a resounding 'clunk'.

The door was locked.

Through the window, John, the driver, walked away.

Ruth spun around to Harry who was sitting beside her, in his hand lay the fob for the car.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"Talking to you, Ruth."

"Unlock the door, Harry."

He shook his head.

"We'll be late for the meeting," she warned, impatiently.

"There is no meeting."

She stared at him aghast and then sat back, folding her arms.

Harry did not need to be a spook to recognise that the body language was not conducive to a chat.

For a moment neither spoke; Ruth exuding only anger and disdain; Harry willing himself to remember the words that had been in his head and heart all week.

"I'm sorry Ruth," he began, "I'm sorry for so many things: for this being the only way I can talk to you; for what I thought and the unforgiveable things I said; for my behaviour which was unprofessional and boorish; but most of all for hurting you by letting my personal feelings interfere."

"You called me a slut."

"I am truly sorry, Ruth."

She looked out of the window, eyes fixed on a flickering strip light, which flashed on and off in an irregular, unpredictable pattern.

Several seconds passed.

"We have to work together," he said finally, "that is unless you no longer wish to work with me?"

"For you. I work for you."

He shook his head and smiled a soft, sad smile, "No, Ruth, you work with me."

For the first time her eyes flicked to him, not with disdain, and held his look.

"I don't want to lose you," he said quietly, "You're too important to the section."

_And to me. Always to me_. In his head over and over he repeated the words, willing her to hear them, willing her to understand and to forgive him.

"I realise you may never forgive me for what I said but please, if you do want to stay, then let us find a way to work with each other again, Ruth."

He lifted the fob in his hand and pressed a button. The locks released.

He reached for the door handle, "John will drive you home."

He got out and glanced at her briefly before shutting the door.

"Think about it."

She watched him call out into the shadows, from where the figure of John emerged. The fob was handed over.

Hands in coat pockets, Harry Pearce walked away under the flickering strip light, there and then gone, there and gone, there and then …. gone.

"Home, Miss?" asked John

"Home," repeated Ruth.


	11. Chapter 11

**Get ready for a long one! **

* * *

Could he have said anymore?

Of course he could.

He could have told her how he felt, how she made him feel, how the thought of her with someone else had totally overwhelmed him with feeling.

But they didn't really do that – grand emotional outburts, flowery admissions and declarations. They didn't really do anything…not well.

Only perhaps work.

They worked at work…well, they had done.

* * *

Harry stepped out of the taxi and back into the rain. He paid the cabbie and turned towards his house.

Sitting on the steps was a familiar yet somewhat bedraggled figure.

"You're wet," he said simply.

Ruth began to get up, "So are you."

"I went for a walk."

They were still standing outside and the rain was still pouring and his key was still in his hand.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, wondering if she had already thought about what he had said; wondering if that was a good thing or a bad.

Her face betrayed nothing.

"Generally I prefer house calls to kidnapping if there's something to be said, Harry."

She had decided something then. Nervously, he reached for the lock.

As they entered his house, he made a point of handing her the key.

"Just so you don't think I'm in the habit of locking you in."

She smiled. She smiled at him. And they both realised it.

She stopped, caught, not wanting to smile at him, not wanting to forget all he had said and thought, not wanting to forgive him.

"Tea?" he asked, grateful for the smile that had been. "Earl Grey or builders?"

"Builders," she answered.

He switched the kettle on and momentarily disappeared upstairs, bringing down a towel.

When he wasn't being boorish, egotistical and sexist, he could be quite thoughtful and sweet, pondered Ruth.

They sat down at the kitchen table, her damp hair falling over the towel on her shoulders, their hot mugs cradled in needy hands.

The silence was there once more. It took a while to break.

"How could you think that of me?" she asked, studying the tea rather than him.

"I don't think I was really thinking at all," he said, his tea as fascinating as hers.

She sighed, blowing the steam away from the cup.

"I'll be more than glad when this week's over," she admitted.

Harry nodded.

"I saw the hammock," he said tentatively, "… Zaf?"

"Zaf," she repeated.

"Do you want me to sack him or send him to Uzbeckistan?"

"The latter."

Harry smiled.

"…And the rest of you can go with him," she added curtly.

"I don't think the Number 52 goes that far, Ruth."

Her eyes flicked up from the mug and he wondered for a moment whether her tea would be the next thing to soak him.

She smiled.

The silence settled but this time much less heavily.

"What did you call it?" she asked suddenly, "A back seat knee trembler?"

Sheepish suited Harry, Ruth thought, as she watched him search for a suitable answer.

"Term from my youth," he finally settled on.

"Oh, you can remember that far back?"

Playful suited Ruth, Harry thought, it lit up her eyes.

"So…" he said, pretending to ignore her and cutting to the reason why she was here. "Have you thought about what I said, Ruth? Will you stay… on the grid?"

She nodded slowly.

"Good. That's good," the words were simple and yet went no way to expressing the relief he felt wash over him.

"It wouldn't be the same without you," he added, turning his attention back to the tea.

"I'm sure you'd manage."

"There's a difference between managing and having a reason to go to work in the mornings."

"You go to work to protect the country, Harry."

"I go to work to see you."

"No, you go to work _and_ see me."

"I know what I meant, Ruth."

Both looked over the tops of their mugs, both looked at each other, both knew what he meant.

* * *

The tea was finished, the mugs cold in their hands.

But Harry didn't want to leave this moment, this space in time, this bubble of understanding.

"Glass of wine?" he asked.

Ruth raised her eyebrows.

"It's white," Harry added, "best stay away from the red if we want to keep you awake."

She tilted her head, a warning in her eyes.

"Sorry," he muttered and concentrated on opening the bottle, "Do you want to go next door?" he nodded towards the living room.

"No, this is fine."

She didn't want to move, to lose this moment, this here and now. There was something special about it, something almost otherworldy, like it was them, yet not them having this conversation.

They sat across the table from one another and raised their glasses.

"What shall we drink to?" he asked.

Why did she want to say 'to us'? Why so very much did she want to say that?

"To… my naivety and the end of your overactive imagination," she stated finally, with a mischievous smile.

He tipped his glass to hers, "You're not naïve."

She tipped her glass to his. "And you're much better company when you're thinking straight."

She raised the glass to her lips. He was watching her, his eyes soft and honeyed.

"I'm not sure I ever think straight when I'm around you, Ruth."

It was that look, the look from Havensworth and she knew it should raise the alarm in her but she stayed where she was, there was something different about tonight.

"Well, maybe that makes two of us," she admitted quietly.

They sat in near silence. A cat howled outside the back window, a wagon passed on the road, the clock ticked on the kitchen wall.

"The other day you said that you were on the bus coming here because you wanted to tell me something…" he leant back in his chair and took a sip of the wine, "…Something about how you felt? … About me," he said.

She nodded and took a long drink of wine.

"I was coming to tell you that I loved you," she stated simply.

He held himself, his movements, his words in check: both thrilled and afraid.

"I was drunk," she added.

"I see."

"Not that that meant it wasn't true and I didn't … I did … I do."

"You do?"

She nodded.

"Even after all I said?"

"Even then."

"Why?"

She looked puzzled.

"Why Ruth?"

"Because one misunderstanding doesn't –"

"No, why do you who are so full of humanity and care and life, care anything, let alone love, for a cynical, boorish, old relic like me?"

"I have a thing for cynical, boorish old relics," she smiled, "and as far as cynical, boorish old relics go, you're one of the best."

"Thank you," he said.

"You're welcome," she replied.

The clock which seemed to have stopped but hadn't, resumed its ticking.

"I don't think I've ever felt jealousy like that before," Harry admitted.

"It didn't become you."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Mind you... he was quite a good looking cleaner," she teased.

"Young?"

She nodded.

"Fit?"

"Very."

"All his own hair and teeth?"

"Not sure, too busy looking at his six pack!"

Harry laughed. She loved his laugh.

"There was a night a couple of years ago…" he looked at her and wondered if she would remember, "A night you left the grid to go on a date. You said that you were only three days late for it and nothing was going to stop you. I pretended to call you back."

She smiled. She did remember the moment.

"I sat in my office afterwards," added Harry, "And I wished it was with me."

He gazed at her intently, gently, lovingly.

"That's when I knew, Ruth."

He emptied his glass of the remaining white wine.

"And I knew the rest, too. I knew I shouldn't feel like that; I knew you worked for me; that you were young and full of life and that I should step away and get a grip."

"Didn't work, did it?" she laughed.

And suddenly her hand had reached across the table and was touching his.

He smiled back, relishing the contact.

"No, it didn't."

For long, long minutes they sat, all their attention fixed on their two hands which lay between them locked in a dance: a slow, sensual dance of exploration, of acknowledgment, of discovery. And they watched transfixed as though their hands were showing them an intimacy they had only ever dreamt of.

A clock in the next room chimed and suddenly seemed to rouse them from their reverie. Ruth glanced at her watch, aghast.

"It's half twelve!"

Harry looked up at the kitchen clock, amazed.

And then they looked at each other and there was as much surprise in that as in wondering where the time had gone.

"Do you think if we get up from here, we'll break the spell," she asked in hushed tones "And then find ourselves back in our perpetual state of misunderstanding?"

"I think you and I, Ruth, have many possibilities, but somehow I imagine uselessness will be our default setting."

She laughed and stood up. He with her.

"I better go," she said.

"You better had," he replied.

She didn't want to go and he did not want to let her.

They stepped out into the hallway and she pulled the towel from her shoulders.

He opened the door. The rain was still beating down on the path. He stepped closer taking the towel from her hands.

He was very close, she could feel his breath on her cheek. His eyes never left hers. Molten, amorous eyes.

"I have a bed that's considerably more comfortable than the backseat of the number 52," he said quietly, nervously.

"Your bed?" she asked before thinking.

"My bed," he answered.

"I don't actually think the 52 runs after midnight," Ruth stated, needing to say something quickly.

"Then maybe we should listen to the signs, Ruth."

"The signs?" She raised an eyebrow curiously.

"Omens," he added unhelpfully.

"Which are…?"

Harry hesitated.

"That there's no bus service and it's raining."

"Is that it?" she asked, eyes alight with amusement.

"That's it," he said sheepishly.

He shrugged, "any sign will do for me, Ruth."

She shut the door.

"Then let's not tempt fate."

* * *

**Epilogue to come **


	12. Epilogue

**Thanks for all your reviews - here's the epilogue.**

* * *

"The HS is on his way."

"What?"

"He wants to see you. Something to do with the Chinese."

"What?!"

"Have I just woken you?"

"No, Adam," Harry snapped, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Right. Well, he'll be in your office in about half an hour."

"Fine."

The phone was on the way down to the receiver when he heard Adam say something else.

"What was that?"

"He's asked for Ruth, too."

The phone went dead.

A tousled, sleepy Ruth looked up at him.

Beside her on the bedside table her mobile rang.

A frenzied ten minutes later and they were in the car speeding towards Thames House.

"I thought the meeting with the Chinese was a lie?"

"It was."

"Well, now it isn't."

"No."

"Oh, surely you don't need me, Harry. Why can't I just go home and change?"

"You heard Adam."

"Tell them I'm ill."

"Ruth, it's not that bad."

"I'm in the same clothes…again!"

"Yes, but this time it's for good reason," he looked at her as the lights turned to red and smiled.

"Stop smiling."

His smile got wider.

"I can't."

"Harry!"

"How do you feel, Ruth?"

"Horrified!" she shouted.

"How did you feel before the phone rang?"

"What?"

"You heard me."

"Tired," she muttered. He waited until she glanced up at him and the smile he rewarded her with was enough for her irritation and panic to subside somewhat.

"And…?" he purred.

"And…" She had got lost in those eyes again.

"Happy?" he asked.

"Very…" and it was her who couldn't hide the smile, "Now hurry up or it'll look even more obvious."

They walked onto the grid separately. Harry went first.

Adam nodded towards the office, the HS was already waiting. Harry heard the pod doors open and knew it was Ruth. He saw the glance from Adam and from Zaf, saw their recognition that she was in the same clothes as the day before.

Harry waited until Ruth had passed by to collect her notes from her desk. He leant in close to Adam.

"One word to Ruth, from anyone and you will all wish you had never joined the service."

He stared at Adam, waiting for the acknowledgment.

"Am I clear?"

Adam nodded.

By mid morning the HS finally left. Ruth did not seem to want to follow.

"As much as I'd love you to, you can't stay in my office all day, Ruth."

She looked out hesitantly.

"Do you think they noticed?"

"No, I don't think so."

"But if they're talking about us…"

He stood in front of her.

"They're not talking about us, Ruth," his hand brushed her hip in a singularly sensual gesture, "though I would dearly love to give them something to talk about."

She scowled at him with an irritation she simply didn't feel.

"Now, go on, get out there. It'll be fine, I'm sure."

And out she went.

No one said anything unusual, no one grinned, nor smirked, nor winked, nor showed any sign whatsoever that anything was other than a normal day.

But Ruth felt uneasy.

This didn't feel right. In fact she began to wonder if she'd feel better if they did say something.

And all the time there was him, in his office, eyes boring into her. She could smell him on her clothes, she could still hear his voice whispering in her ear, she could still feel him inside her.

All was fine until lunchtime when Ros emerged from the pods.

Adam, who was standing with Harry, hurriedly made his way towards her but he never made it in time.

"Same clothes again, Ruth. Which bus station was it this time?"

The grid went into lockdown.

Everyone froze.

Harry was the only one who seemed to drag himself from the tidal wave of shock. He stepped forward to steer Ros into some far flung corner and detail the end of her career. But he never reached her either.

"I spent the night at Harry's," said Ruth.

Harry stared wide eyed. Zaf choked on his coffee. Malcolm smiled.

"Right," said Ros, unusually reticent.

"Right," nodded Adam.

Ruth picked up her coat and bag, "Shall I get you a sandwich?" she asked Harry as she made her way out.

"Yes…thanks," said Harry.

He turned to look at the startled, upturned faces of his team and with a small, self satisfied smile he followed Ruth off the grid and into the pods.


End file.
